He mentioned Bob’s name but once more that morning. Then he asked a question he had asked before. “Has he told his grandfather yet about how sociable and friendly he has got to be with us?” he inquired. “No?... Humph! Saving the news for the old man’s birthday, maybe, the way you and he saved up that picture for mine. Well, many happy returns, Elisha. Ho, ho!” Esther made no comment. The speech, however, strengthened her conviction concerning her uncle’s real feeling toward Bob. If he knew--or when he knew.... She shuddered at the thought and endeavored to put it from her mind. Meanwhile she tried her best to show by every word and act her devotion and love for Foster Townsend. She and her uncle were closer during this period than ever before. Later she was to be very thankful that this was so. Bob came on Friday evening at the usual hour, and, also as usual, soon after his arrival Townsend went to his own room. His keen dislike for any member of what he contemptuously called the “Cook tribe” was now, in Griffin’s case, augmented by a bitter jealousy. Yet he could not bring himself to remain there and stand guard upon them. He had told Esther he trusted her. Well, he would carry the trust to the limit, and, thank heaven, that limit was close at hand. Foster Townsend prided himself upon never having, in trade or politics or horse racing, played the sneak. He would beat his competitor by what he considered fair means--that is, by craft or shrewdness or even force--but not by sneaking or spying. To remain in that room during Bob Griffin’s visits seemed to him just that, and he would not stoop to it. Esther, for her part, was always conscious of the trust which her uncle placed in her. It was noble of him, she thought. And this particular evening, as he left the room and she turned to face her lover, the consciousness strengthened her determination to say what must be said. That it would be hard to say she knew. But when they were alone and Bob came toward her, his hands outstretched and his face alight, it was harder than she had dreamed. He would have taken her in his arms, but she avoided the embrace. “No, Bob, no!” she protested. “You mustn’t. Please don’t!” He persisted, of course, but she was firm. “You mustn’t,” she repeated. “It isn’t right.” He laughed. “Right!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course, it is right. I have been waiting for it--forever, it seems to me. Nothing else _is_ right. Come, Esther!” Still she avoided him. “No, Bob,” she insisted, “it isn’t right. It is wrong--now, at least. Oh, don’t make it so hard for me! Sit down, please. I have so much to say to you.” He hesitated. Then, with a shrug and a smile, he threw himself into the easy-chair. “Well,” he observed, still smiling. “I don’t know what this is all about, but here I am. I am going to listen because you ask me to, but nothing you may say will make the slightest difference between you and me. I tell you that in the beginning.” “Oh, yes, it will! It must.”